


Make You Feel My Love

by Bluejay141519



Series: A Game of Shadows [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, evil don sweeney bc alex made him evil and i yeeted him, noodle boy survives tho, pasta is so confused, tuukka rask being a bad ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: “It’s the job.” Don repeats, a little less friendly this time.“It’s manipulative.” He corrects. “And a breach of protocol to withhold pertinent information from part of his team.”Sweeney stands up, frowning now. “This is a very serious thing to try, you understand. To threaten me-““I have not yet begun to threaten you,” Tuukka snarls.
Relationships: David Pastrnak/Tuukka Rask, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patrice Bergeron/Brad Marchand
Series: A Game of Shadows [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543552
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Make You Feel My Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is alex's fault. Some credit can also be attributed to my brain be so tired i lost the ability to read, a four hour cramped van ride where I only got his fic halfway through, could only use my phone to type, and went absolutely spastic over the idea of finally starting a spy au for the bruins.
> 
> It probably wont make much sense unless you read his first.
> 
> Also the title is from a random Adele song that I've never listened to but was on starbucks spotify.

**The Act.**

Behind him, Pasta makes this punched out noise, and Tuukkas heart seizes in his chest.

Not literally, not like Pastas is, but the way it jumps, that way his body floods his system with adrenaline, it’s close. It feels like it, anyway.

There’s the sound of David’s breath whooshing out of him, and his first fear is that they’re made, there was a leak and they’ve been made and David’s been shot and is going to be dead before he hits the ground, but-

-but he turns around, and everyone is still walking around like normal, except for Pasta whose face has gone pale and he looks horribly, honestly,  _ terrified _ .

That, more than anything, scares him so bad.

He might breath out David’s name, might loose all his breath too, might be wildly thinking of every possible ailment that could be causing this, trying to remember every minute of medical training he’s got and coming up totally blank. He  _ might be  _ freaking out.

Pasta grabs his shoulder, face open and broadcasting his pain and-

There should be surprise. David should be shocked at this, because Tuukka certainly is.

But there’s none of that, just pain and fear and -  _ guilt? _ \- as Tuukks gets them to the ground.

“Just breath,” He tells him. Commands him. He’s having a hard time doing that, obviously, so Tuukkas hands move to his throat, getting ride of the stupid silk scarf and unbuttoning his coat to get it out of the way.

There’s nothing wrong with his throat. Nothing at all, no redness or bumps that might’ve been some allergic reaction, no deviation of his trachea, no swelling and no injection point. It rules out so many things, just that image of clear skin. He feels cold suddenly, like his body has been encased in ice. He’s strangely away of the feeling of fabric against his own skin as he snaps at someone to  _ call an ambulance right the fuck now. _

They were just supposed to do some business. Open an account. Something dumb. This isn’t supposed to happen. Tuukka was ready for their names to be flagged or a part of their story to be inaccurate, something common and minute.

Pasta chokes out his name, and he’s plastering a smile on his face while refocusing on him. Keep the patient calm, check their breathing, don’t let the love of your life know that you can’t figure out what’s happening but that you’re pretty sure they’re dying. Check his pulse.

He jams his fingers against the pulse point by his neck and feels this incorrect imitation of a structured blood flow and  _ knows _ , oh, oh he’s having a heart attack. His heart isn’t moving right, that’s what this is, that’s what’s happening.

David is apologizing. He wants to scream at him to  _ shut. up _ . because Tuukka cannot handle this, he can’t hear David apologize for something that isn’t his fault.

The guilt. He wonders if David knew he was dying the second it started, wonders if he knows he’s going to die and Tuukka is the one who’s just catching up.

He doesn’t yell at him.

He softens his voice and relaxes his face and tells him “You’re going to be fine, just stay with me, alright, stay with me David.”

It’s like an order, but not, because no part of him wants to make Pasta do anything he doesn’t want to do. He just hopes that David will hear what he’s really saying, what he’s been trying to say for months now.

_ Stay with me, please, please, just stay with me, chose me, love me. _

“Should have told you-“ Pasta gasps, and he’s in so much pain, looks so scared lying there on the ground. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to make it better for David the way he feels he needs to, so he tries to do what he thinks David would want. What would David do, if it was him?

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the younger mans forehead. Soft, gentle, and sweet. His hand has been unconsciously carding through the curls atop his head, and he stills it, just slightly.

“Tell me when you’re better.” He begs. “And I’ll tell you- god David, there is so much I am going to tell you when you get better.”

He feels like his chest is cracking, the pain is so horrible. He’s cold from the inside out, his breathes stuttering and uneven, and he isn’t the one on the ground. David’s eyes unfocus, going somewhere far away.

Tuukks can remember graduation day, when they swore him in.

_ “Agent Rask, can you promise to remain objective, no matter the cost to you personally?” _

_ “I can.” _

He broke that promise the very first time he saw Pasta crash into the meeting room, five minutes late and full of beautiful naivety. He knew it from there,  _ I’d do anything for this moron, he’s just a kid, he’s my partner now, I won’t lose him, I have to make him better, I have to show him how to survive because I can’t lose another one. _

This is wrong. This is so wrong. Things about this are wrong but his mind is scrambled and his thoughts are going to fast for him to figure out what it is.

David’s eyes slide shut, open, flutter, and shut again.

Tuukka isn’t- this isn’t okay. He’s just- he’s got to-

“Hey, wake up, you need to stay with me.” He says, and it is cold this time, it is a command. This idiot boy that took his heart and held it, he does not get to do this. He doesn’t get to do this to Tuukka.

Pasta doesn’t wake up. His face is grey almost and there’s this terrifying lack of life anywhere on him. David is- he’s not like that, he’s always moving and it’s so  _ annoying  _ and he’s just not- this is all wrong. Twenty three year old extremely active people do not just have heart attacks.

He was going to tell him. Tuukka had this entire plan. There’s a restaurant booked under a fake name, in a very quiet spot back home in Boston. A secluded table, no cameras that could possibly see them and a complete vetting of the staff there. As many reassurances that he can get that no one knows who they are.

Candles. Wine. Way too much food, nice shirts and gel in the hair and doing everything he can to make David laugh, because that’s his favorite sound and he’ll need to hear it a lot to calm his nerves.

He was going to tell him over a mountain of dessert, and he was going to do everything he could not to be hurt if David said no.

(Bergy has told him possibly a thousand times, that David won’t say no. He’s just barely starting to believe him.)

He was going to be very nice. He was going to be happy and kind and thoughtful and everything that Pasta is, but Tuukka isn’t, and he was gonna man up and say it.

Except he can feel the heartbeat of David, sporadic and slow and  _ wrong _ , and he’s dying. David Pasternak is dying, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s got nothing on him, no hidden needle of adrenaline, no nothing. Nothing. He’s useless.

He panics, a complete breakdown of thought and logic and he tells him, tells him right before pastas heart stops beating beneath his hands. “I love you.” He says, and it’s not nice or gentle or any of the things he wanted them to be. It’s desperate, because he can’t let Pasta die without him knowing.

_ I love you, _ he thinks, as hands pull him backwards, someone trying to use the AED in the bank.  _ I love you, _ he thinks, as EMTs arrive and interrupt the bystanders efforts, as they use their own machines and their own hands to do cpr.

_ I love you _ , he thinks while David’s body jerks unnaturally with electricity. _ I love you so much, please come back to me _ .

“-hold compressions.”

“I have a pulse, it’s-“

“Sir, are you okay? Would you like a ride to the hospital?”’

There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder. His first, visceral reaction is to smack them away, get them  _ off of him _ , because only David can touch him like that, only he gets to see Tuukks be that sort of human- and then he wants to cry, because that’s gone now. That’s- he might-

“Yes.” He says, and his voice is cool, stiff. He’s trained to hide emotion. He’s- he’s put together. He’s an agent. He’s fine. “I would.”

  
  


**The Aftermath.**

“Do that you me again.” He says. “And I’ll kill you myself.”

Pasta still looks horribly pale, even where he’s propped up in bed. Tuukka doesn’t mean it at all, but he also sort of does. The last forty eight hours have been a sort of hell that he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced in any of his training or action.

“I didn’t- I couldn’t-” He stops, takes a deep breath - which looks painful, but Tuukka is just a little bit angry with him, so he doesn’t move to comfort him - and closes his eyes. “I have to tell you.”

“I know what they did.” He says. No angsty apologies here, Tuukks is allotted only so many emotional crises per year, and as of this week he’s far exceeded the maximum limit.

“No, see that’s the thing Tuukks, they didn’t-“

“They  _ made you _ .” He corrects. The reason why he didn’t want a young partner, was this right here. Pasta believes in the system, believes in the way the company works. He lets them convince him to take the blame. He doesn’t understand. “They told you no one else could do it, told you they needed to get that information to  _ save lives _ , right? That ‘this was the only way’. But don’t tell  _ me _ , your partner, because then it might not be authentic, and our cover would be blown, and I’d get hurt. We’d all die. End of days shit, right?”

Pasta doesn’t agree with him using words, exactly, but his wide eyes expression say it all.

He sighs. “You know the whole point of having an older more experienced partner is to ask them for advice. You know this right? They didn’t pair us together because they thought it’d be fun.”

David’s eye brows knit together, and he looks adorable ruffled, lying in Tuukkas bed with ratty hair and a scruffy start to a beard. “I- you’re not mad?”

“I’m fucking furious.” He says calmly, ignoring the sudden urge to scream. “Just not at you.”

“Why not? I should’ve told you, I made you think I was  _ dying- _ “

“Oh, I didn’t  _ think  _ you were dying, I  _ knew  _ you were dying. You know technically you were? That drug doesn’t just mimic a heart attack, it literally gives you one. That’s not a thing you can imitate. Your heart stopped. It’s just apparently much easier to bring you back to life, versus like, a normal heart attack. A few chest compressions and you’re there.”

“I lied to you.” Pasta snaps, just like Tuukka expects him too. Pasta wants his anger. He’s waiting for it, but the only anger Tuukka has for him is because he’s such an idiot he didn’t see the signs. He clearly hasn’t been listening to anything Tuukkas been telling him.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“Because I love you.” He replies, and this is the way he wanted to do it. Calm and sure of himself and sure that the reason David went with this crazy plan is that he was afraid for Tuukka. Afraid in a way that’s much more than partners. “I love you, and I think you love me. I- I hope you do. It’d really suck if you don’t, because I really do have so much to tell you, but-“

“ _ Yes _ .” Pasta interrupts him, nodding fervently. “Yes, yes I fucking love you too why did I have to die for you to say it-“

“Woah  _ hey,  _ you had all the time before dying to tell me too!” He yells back, a little outraged and a little giddy and damn this man for bringing out all these feelings in him. He walks toward the bed and climbs next to David whos on ordered bed rest for the next two days. Tuukkas gonna have to tie him to the bed.

“Okay, well- whatever.” David eyes him even as he snuggles into his chest. “As far as confessions go that was pretty tame. Especially for you.”

“I’m trying to buy brownie points with you.”

David stiffens. “Why.”

“Sweeney knows about us. Knew about- knows what I feel for you. He’ll use it again.”

“Tuukka-“

“I’m going to stop him.” He says simply.

“ _ Tuukka- _ “

“I won’t let them hurt you again.” He snaps. “I  _ won’t.  _ They don’t get to do that. Not to you or Bergy or Charlie or- not to anyone. Not anymore.”

Pasta pushes up and away from him, a struggle that he will clearly pay for later with soreness. Tuukka sits up with him, fully prepared for David’s resistance. “What are you going to do?!” He asks, and if he wasn’t recovering from a heart attack he’d surely look more threatening that some half dead cat.

“Tuukks, please, what are you going to do? You can’t- they’re so much more powerful than us.” Pasta grabs a hold of his hands, squeezing them like that will change his mind.

“They’re not  _ that  _ much more powerful. Not really.” He replies, squeezing back.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“You can’t just- just say you’re going to do something and then-“

“You don’t get to lecture me on not telling your partner things.” Tuukka snaps, that little bit of anger flickering briefly. Pasta flinches, guilt drawing his eyes downwards.

“I’m sorry.” David whispers, and Tuukka sighs, closing his eyes.

“Me too.” He says quietly. Pasta doesn’t say anything, not a word, just keeps staring at the bed spread. He’s not crying, but Tuukka knows it’s a close thing and he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want them to fight. So he leans forward, bringing a hand up to David’s cheek and another to the back of his neck to turn his face and brings their foreheads together.

“I need you,” he murmurs. “To trust me.”

_ Trust me more than you did in that bank _ , goes sort of unsaid, but it’s no less true now than it was yesterday or it will be tomorrow or a year from now. This doesn’t work unless David can trust him with this. With everything. Bergy and Marchy only got so far because they have no secrets between them. It’s the only way it can work in their life.

“I do,” David mumbles back. “I swear to god I do. I’m so sorry Tuukka-”

He shuts him up by pressing his mouth to his. It’s too hard and too desperate and too rough for what Pasta is, but it’s maybe everything that Tuukka feels, so it’s enough, for their first, its perfect.

  
  


**The Proposal** .

“Excuse me?”

“It’s really a simple transaction.” He assures with as much false sincerity as he can possibly inject into his voice.

He is angry. He’s so very angry.

“Agent Rask, I don’t think you understand exactly what this sort of thing would do.”

He pretends to ponder that for a minute. “No,” he decides. “I think I do.”

Sweeney sighs, picks up the contract and tosses it back towards Tuukkas side of the desk. Then he folds his hands neatly together and purses his lip, and Tuukka swears on his mother’s life that if this man is about to call him “ _ son _ ” while explaining why he’s out of his league to make such demands, then Tuukka is going to murder him with his own pen. Right here and now. It will be brutal. They’ll have to repaint.

“I am not gonna sign that.”

“Sir,” he starts calmly. Sort of. Through gritted teeth but not yelling, so it’s calm enough.

“It’s part of the job, agent.” Sweeney smiles, fake with false sincerity, like he’s oh so sorry that Rask forgot about this. “We got the mission done. Agent Pasternak will be fine.”

“You used personal information against me and my partner before enacting a plan that nearly killed him - all for  _ theatrics _ .”

“It’s the job.” Don repeats, a little less friendly this time.

“It’s manipulative.” He corrects. “And a breach of protocol to withhold pertinent information from part of his team.”

Sweeney stands up, frowning now. “This is a very serious thing to try, you understand. To threaten me-“

“I have not yet begun to threaten you,” Tuukka snarls, voice hard and unforgiving. “ _ Sir _ .”

Sweeney paces. He’s angry that one of his subordinates dare question his authority, would come in here calm. He’s trying to get the upper hand by standing, but Tuukka stays sitting, just like Bergy told him too. Sitting while the other person becomes more and more agitated, (standing, pacing, glaring) means that he retains a sort of confidence that he has the power in this situation. Which - he does, but its good to make sure Sweeney knows that he can’t intimidate him.

Tuukka almost smiles. God he can’t wait for whats coming next.

“You know people don’t resign from this job.”

“People resign all the time.” He flaps a hand at the suggestion. “People don’t have a good track record after they’re fired though.”

He tilts his head to the side, again sort of pondering the idea. “I wonder why that is.”

Don stops his pacing to stare at him. His face is very tight now, he’s trying  _ so hard _ not to break his facade. “You threatened to resign unless I sign this thing stating that the company cannot exploit your ‘relationship’ in anyway, I am going to have to say-“

“Contract.” He interrupts. Not a thing. A very well worded contract.

“-then I suppose you have lost sight of the purpose of your job.” Sweeney continues, looking just that bit more annoyed, but the longer he talks the calmer he becomes, like he’s warming up the idea of not having Tuukka around. “You’ve broken your oath, acted in an extremely unprofessional manor while under duress, endangered your partners life, and disrespected authority to such a degree that I believe the best course of action is for us to terminate your position.”

He stares at his boss for a long minute, eyes narrowed in thought. Sort of. He’s already thought this through a thousand times, so it’s really just all those acting lessons he got from Marchy coming into play.

_ ‘He’s got to believe that you believe that this will work, otherwise it won’t _ .’

“Marchand.” He says finally, snapping his fingers as if to emphasize the thought. “Yes. Marchand and Bergeron. You don’t get to use their relationship either. In fact-“ He waves a hand around, such nonchalance that he normally hates but is starting to enjoy. It really does give the same sort of satisfaction that his gun usually does. 

“All agents. You, as the company representative and our boss, will sign this contract explicitly stating that you’re not allowed to interfere with any agents relationships, including but not limited to their families, friends, and romantic partners.”

He pauses, just long enough to bask in the shock Sweeney displays at Tuukkas audacity.

“Who in the fucking  _ hell  _ do you think you are Rask?! You think you’re going to just march in here and demand all this because your little boyfriend got hurt? I will  _ end you _ , and him, and your little team, and I am  _ certainly  _ not going to-“

“Sign it? That’s fine.” One more second of that man threatening him and his own and he was really going to start murdering. Tuukka reaches into his bag and pulls out the second folder, a much thicker Manila with crisp edges and stacks on stacks of paper clipped packets that he drops on Sweeney’s desk. There’s a red number on there, inked in by a stamp and partially covered by a blue seal.

“That is one of over five hundred.” He says, idly picking at his nails and trying not to look like he’s obviously enjoying the way Sweeney’s face pales. “And then there are copies of those five hundred plus, and there are copies of those copies, and then there are flash drives, and automatic program releases, and lawyers with money and people with a thirst for vengeance and there are many,  _ many  _ more than you can handle.”

“Would you like to look inside?” He asks, leaning forward to flips it open. There’s a lot of letters on the page, non redacted, all typed transcripts but this one in particular has  _ “19, SEGUIN” _ hand written across the top. He picks up the paper clipped stack - that’s one days worth of transcripts - and drops it on the desk. The next one, “ _ 54, MCQUAID” _ , and the next,  _ “44, SEIDENBERG” _ and  _ “17, DONATO” _ and “ _ 34, SODERBERG _ ” and many more. So much more.

“Five hundred. And we’ve just barely gotten started.” He stands now, picking up the contract and flipping it around to place neatly in front of the vacated chair. Poking around the pen holder, he finds a nice fine tip quill pen that probably cost more than some people make in a month and places it on the paper. Uncapped in everything.

“So you could, you know, not sign. And then everything - and I mean  _ everything  _ \- that you and this company has ever done is going to on the local news in every small town across the nation. Shit, you’ll probably have international coverage by...” He looks at his watch. “It’s five right now, so how does the eight o’clock news work for you? You’ll want a press conference before you’re arrested by the FBI, I’d start planning-“

“ _ Fine! _ ” Don thunders, almost shaking the little office. He snatched up the pen and scribbles his signature. Then he notices the other line below his, and his face goes white then red in rapid succession. “This is-“

“Corporate.  _ Will  _ sign this contract.” He annunciates very clearly, leaving in very close and breathing very carefully, because this is the hardest part, getting this all the way up. “You  _ will  _ make this happen. And then you’re going to leave this job, because I have no problem keeping all this quiet still. I like  _ my  _ job, I like working with my people. I’ll keep it and them and we’ll keep doing your missions. But know that if I ever disappear, if I’m ever ‘killed in action’, this goes out. If any of my team is hurt or killed, this goes out. If my friends-“

“I  _ understand _ .” Don snaps. It looks painful.

Tuukka hopes it burns him to have to do this. He hopes it’s nothing compared to what he’ll deal with from the higher ups. “You’ll make them understand too.”

“Done.”

He leans back. “Excellent! This has been a great talk, thank you so much for your time.” He gathers his things and jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the mess of evidence on the desk. “Also I have video of you signing that contract, I’ll expect a fully completed contract to be posted in the archives and every city office we operate in. Feel free to keep your evidence of treason and murder!”

The door clicks shut behind him. He refuses to look back.

…

**<strike>Bonus</strike>:**

“Who’s the new guy?”

“You didn’t hear? Sweeney got fired or something.”

“He didn’t get fired, he moved. They created like a different level just for him.”

“But he’s still our boss?”

“Bosses bosses boss? Something like that. No more personnel influence.”

“So this...Cassidy dude-”

“Yes, he’s the new office head.”

“Oh shit did you see the thing corporate posted? About-”

“Yeah and like half of my lawyer buddies said it’s air tight.”

“Whoever manage to do that must’ve...like they’re really going to be in the hot seat. Corporate definitely doesn’t like being told what to do.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *bows* thanks everyone for reading this follow up that definitely is not what alex asked for, intended, or was worht waiting for. I am still very tired and I appreciate every one of you.


End file.
